I Believe {Bigfoot 50K Recap}

“How long do you think you will be out there?” my husband asked me the morning of the race.

As I talked to him on the phone, a flurry of activity was going on in the room at the lodge. The air thick with pre-race nerves.

“Hopefully, less than 8 hours,” I replied.

Bigfoot! I know him!

Running the Bigfoot 50K was a “last minute” decision for me in that I registered for it without time for a complete training cycle. I had ran a 50K in June but switched to the half marathon distance at Fort4Fitness.

I did my best to build off my fitness and got in some solid long runs. However, church and family commitments meant that cutback weeks were CUTBACK weeks. I didn’t know how that would translate on race day.

I always knew that I could drop down to the 10-mile distance at the race, which was at Salt Fork State Park in Eastern Ohio, but I always felt drawn to the longer event. Maybe it was because most of the Ignite Team, an ultra group in northeast Indiana of which I'm a part, was doing it and, hello, FOMO but I think it was because I knew I wanted the challenge. Needed it.

When I I lined up at the start on the chilly morning in early December, I was verge of tears because, yo, there is crying in trail running. Once we got started, all the fear and worry seemed to fade.

The race was three loops of about 10.5 miles. For the first few miles of the first loop, I found myself in a strong pack led by none other than one of my Ignite teammates. It was nice having someone set the pace and determine the trail hills. But by the start of the big hill, the Bigfoot hill, I found myself bouncing between other runners. I would run with a person for a bit and then find myself on my own for smidge.

I came in from the first loop in about 2:10 and it gave me a good gauge of how to pace the remaining loops. I figured if I could do 2:20 for the second and 2:30 for the third, I could finish around 7 hours. The eight hours that I quoted to Mark out of fear seemed more like a worst case scenario than a probability.

And funny enough, my loop splits were on point with that prediction. During the second loop, I got behind a few runners who seem to seamlessly transition between running and walking for no particular reason. With mine for a bit, figuring that it would keep me control, but after a while I decided to pass the pair. Looking back, I'm guessing they took the early start, which gave them nine hours to finish but took them out of the running for age group awards.

From there I fell in line with Eddie the Yeti, who is a far nicer person than me. I got a little too close to him and nearly pulled off a shoe. Instead of getting frustrated with me, he and I ran together, and it was a privilege to get to hear part of his story. He had found running 15 years ago and, for all intents and purposes, it saved him from life in the fast lane.

There was a peace in the second loop because there was no doubt that I could complete the race. I just had to stay positive and focused, which has been a goal for 2017. And I learned the hard way in that loop to keep eyes - and mind on the trail. About mile 18.5, I started to think about food and beer a little too much and fell. My knee felt off for a few minutes but it was fine once it stretched out.

Between the second and third loop, I decided to change – taking off my jacket and long sleeve and putting on a different shirt. It cost me about 5 minutes but it was nice to be dry.

Beyond that lengthy stop, I minimized my time at the aid stations. I filled the bottles in my my new Nathan Howe hydration pack but relied mostly on Honey Stinger gels and chews that I had brought. Except for the pickles. I did like the pickles!

I started the third loop with an elapsed time of 4:35 and knew the last loop would be a grind. I focused on positive self talk and moving forward. My youngest had been saying “Mommy Superman” on repeat that morning when I was talking to my husband, and I just repeated that in my head. I knew that he was not actually calling me Superman but instead excited that he had found the action figure but you take what you can get. Especially when he thinks it is fun to say “Spit in your face.”

I kept a good eye on splits during the loop, hoping that I could eke out the sub seven finish. I was a little unsure as I approached the last uphill section of the loop. It was technical - rocky and rooty - and seemingly forever but, in truth, more than a half-mile. Once I got to the pavement, the parking lot of the lodge, I knew it would be close but doable if I could run it in.

I never thought I would say this but I really had a ton of fun out there. I loved being to see my fellow Ignite teammates on the course and just be.

STATS
Race: Bigfoot 50K
Location: Salt Fork State Park, Lore City, Ohio
Course distance: 31.5 miles
Course elevation gain: 3,832 feet
Finish time: 6:59:28
Average pace: 13:30
Age group place: 6/10 (39 and younger)
Gender place: 14/45
Fuel: Six packs Honey Stinger chews, two Honey Stinger gels, a handful of chips, pickles and Nuun
Essential gear: Brooks Pure Project jacket, Nathan Howe vest, Sugoi subzero tights

Another Dam 50K {A Race Recap}

With my Nathan handheld filled with water and having taken two salt pills, I headed down the now familiar bike path at Englewood MetroPark.

Rays peeked through the towering trees, the morning sun having matured into an afternoon blazer. The small field of participants at the Another Dam 50K had spread out in the 4 1/2 hours since the race start, and it felt like it was just Kim and me as we headed out for the fourth and final loop.

Our conversation had seemed to quiet, the day's effort settling in, but there was nothing that needed to be said. In those moments, as we made the turn toward the dam  (another turn on that dam road), we knew that we were going to do it. We were going to finish this race, a 50K -- something that seemed so audacious at times in the previous 16 weeks.

The day before the race, checking out the course with the best friend and crew chief a girl could ask for.

Anther Dam 50K is a low-key race at a park just west of Dayton, Ohio. I was attracted to it for its timing - just far enough out from the IT100 that I could pace Joe and still have my own race -- and its price. The race has a no-frills option of $15, and I paid $25 to get a T-shirt and finisher's prize (a technical shirt that states on the sleeve that I did the whole dam thing).

Soon after I registered, my friend Kim found herself signing up and in the month or two leading up, my best friend from Nebraska volunteered to drive in and help crew. While the 50K gets a rap for being a glorified marathon, the 5 miles that sets it apart cannot be underestimated and her presence proved invaluable on Saturday.

I couldn't settle my stomach. My nerves. My emotions.

Race morning, I wavered between tears and nausea. Blueberries in the bagel that I hoped would be plan were unsettling and the words of encouragement from my running buddies were so kind that I could feel them reverberate in each breath.

I think it was fear. The unknown. The build-up to this one day.

But once Pattie, Kim and I arrived at the park at 7:15 a.m., 45 minutes ahead of the 8 a.m. start, I had started to settle. The air was comfortable but not as cool as I'd like and the sun offered a welcome greeting. After a week of fretting about potential thunderstorms, the day's forecast offered another challenge - heat. The high was predicted to be in the mid- to high 80s and with a goal time of 6 hours, I knew that I would be finishing in the heat of the day.

Thankfully, my ultrarunning friends have taught me much. First, control what you can and don't worry about the rest (including weather). The only thing you can do is control how you react to those variables. Second, Joe sent me a message that morning to get ahead of my hydration, drinking early and often.

So I filled my pack with water and my handheld with Nuun Performance and gathered with Kim and the other participants.

With a long white beard and relaxed attitude, the race director reminded me of Lazarus from the Barkley Marathons. But I wonder how many people now make that comparison to every trail race director now.

He lined us up and gave a quick few words and with not so much as a horn, bell or cigarette lighting, he unceremoniously sent us off into the woods three minutes ahead of schedule.

"I don't have GPS," I declared as I fumbled with my watch, not accustomed to an event that starts early. So much a road runner, I tell you.

Prior to the race, Kim and I had discussed a plan. We would run together as much as we could but there was no shame in falling back or surging ahead depending on what the day dealt each of us. And so I ran alongside my friend on the bike path on the first part of the course, which was described as a figure 8. (In reality, it looked like a crazy path with a middle finger at the top.)

We ran over a small foot bridge and turned right. We wound on paved trail and turned left onto a trail. There was some mud, some grass, and I breathed a sign of relief that my feet were home. My eyes darted right and left, trying to take in the sights but also looking for the orange flags that marked the 7.6-ish mile course.

We came out into an open green path and followed it briefly to more pavement before taking a sharp left.

A dam left.

Englewood, we learned, is known for five dams and part of the course is on a gravel path that runs parallel to one of them. It was open, hot, endless and the most grueling part of the course. But it was also flat, and Kim and I found ourselves moving at a decent clip amongst the crowd of runners.

I worried about the pace, in the 9's and far from what I had predicted. My goal was to run each of the four loops in 90 minutes, about an 11:45 pace, and we were more than 2 minutes faster. But I told myself not to get ahead, to think about the end game, and relax into it. There would be trail hills to walk (the organizers promised three significant inclines) and those would make up for it.

When we got to the turn, we found ourselves on a park road and running on a downhill. A glorious, shaded downhill. And so we continued at a solid pace albeit hot but it felt good.

And so it would go for that first loop. Over foot bridges and on dirt trails, across grass and up hills to gorgeous waterfalls. Just when things became mundane, the course would take a turn and we would find ourselves in new surroundings where the earth was cracked or the tree cover waned and shadows interrupted a bright, curving path.

Before we knew it, in about 1:20, we found ourselves at the start/finish area, with one loop down and three to go. Our best ever crew chief was there to help, and I decided to ditch my pack. My back was hurting from the weight and with the a handheld and good access to aid stations, I decided that I would be OK without it.

The dam road. It's the place, I decided, that would make or break your race. And on the second loop, I decided that I needed to make it my race.

While I love(d) running with Kim, my frequent check-ins with pace and worry were wearing on me. I needed to run my pace, whatever that may be, and let her run hers. I needed to be selfish, to only worry about me, and allow her the same opportunity. So I told her that I was going to fall back and wished her well.

There's something about taking the pressure off that allows you to relax and, in that second loop, I did. My stride felt more natural, my stance taller, my body stronger. More able.

But to keep it that way, I had to be diligent with fueling and hydration - especially since I had ditched the pack. My goal was to take in 200 to 300 calories an hour and drink any time I even remotely thought about it. During the first loop, I had a pack of margarita Clif Shot Bloks and Nuun Performance and the second loop was Cherry Cola Honey Stingers.

There were two aid stations -- one at the start/finish with water and a sport drink that will go unnamed and one at the middle of the figure 8 with all kinds of trail goodies. I made my first stop in the middle of that second loop, refilling the handheld and slurping some of the refreshingly cool water. I also poured pickle juice into a cup and threw it down the hatch. Having been reminded the hard way during a particularly brutal training run, I wanted to be mindful of my salt and electrolyte intake. And so I continued this ritual of sorts through the third loop.

"This is the dumbest thing I have ever done," I declared when I stopped at the picnic table after the second loop.

Looking back, there was no reason for me to say this. I was still running strong, still feeling good. Even having slowed down during the second loop, I had still finished it around 1:25. I think, mentally, I was getting tired. And when having discussed the race the day prior, I had projected that the third loop would be the hardest.

So there I was, taking two salt pills that Pattie so kindly got out, ready to take on the third loop. The part that I had told everyone would be the worst.

If running will teach you anything, though, it is that you can't ever declare that it will be one way and think it will be. While I was ready to fight and switch gears, I found myself cruising the third loop.

Well, sort of.

In the weeks prior to the race, I had a couple of tumbles running on trails. Part of it was rooty and wet conditions, part of it was laziness in picking up my feet. Joe instructed me that I would have a "dam" good race but I needed to pick up my "dam" feet.

It was great advice and if I had a mantra of any sort on Saturday, it was "Pick up your damn feet." And yet, I didn't. I fell once, on dirt, in the first loop but got up almost as quickly as I fell. In the third loop, I wasn't so lucky. On one of the wooden plank paths, running on autopilot, my toe got caught in a tiny gap and I flew forward. Thankfully, if there is a thankfully, I fell toward my left side - my good side and did so quickly that I couldn't brace myself. My knee and palm took the brunt of it and when I stood, I worried that this dumb thing could have taken me out.

It was  a short jog to the aid station, and I was able to rinse it off and assess. I was going to live! And live to run the rest of the race. I took a drink of water, poured some on my head and hat and grabbed a cup of pickle juice before going on my way.

I slowed up a bit just to see how things would feel but once I realized that the fall wouldn't affect my gait, I continued plugging forward. I walked the hills near the two waterfalls on the course (one up and one down) but was still running strong.

As I pulled into the aid station for the second time on the third loop, I heard a sweet, "Hey." I looked up and saw a beautiful girl.

Kim.

"I know you!" I said with enthusiasm, so excited to see my friend.

She was heading out to finish the third loop but I had caught her and after pouring water on my head, hat and drinking some, I set out to find her. On the flat bike path, down a hill from the dam road, I ran past her. Slowed. Drank from my handheld. Got caught. And gained company for the final mile in.

"What do you need?" the volunteer at the start/finish aid station asked.

"Do you have Mountain Dew?"

Mountain Dew. Once my drink of choice, I hadn't touched full-calorie soda in years and even a diet soda since last July. But somewhere on loop three, after trying one of the new Gingerade Gu's, I decided that solid calories were not my thing. I needed calories, though, and I decided it was time to embrace trail running and drink soda. Pepsi was gross but I could swallow the Mountain Dew. Flat and warm, it was calories and caffeine to keep me going.

I had a small cup at the picnic table before heading to Pattie the last time. I sprayed down with sunscreen and took two more salt pills. When she asked me how I was feeling, I said that it felt like I had run 23 miles but I was good.

Kim and I headed off quickly with the quiet understanding that we were going to do this. But we also knew that this loop would be different. It was hot, and we could feel it. And with the dam road just a mile away, promising an unrelenting sun, we knew that it could be slower and a lot less pretty.

I just didn't know how unpretty but soon I would.

I'm not sure whether it was the heat, the caffeine in the Mountain Dew or just the Dew itself, but my stomach started to feel funny. Nauseous. Sort of. And my heart, it was racing. The racing heart, I thought, could be contributing to the nausea.

I had been prepared to walk more in this loop but soon I found myself telling Kim, again, to move ahead. I needed to walk whatever this was out. If anything, I could get my heart rate down enough to feel good.

I walked much of mile 26, collecting myself at the aid station, and moved forward with a run walk. My plan was to do a 5:2 interval, which was pretty doable given the course. Unlike other trails I have been on (and despite what my elevation chart on Strava showed), I felt like this course was really runnable with very few trail hills. In fact, I think that was part of the challenge - so.much.running. (Imagine that!)

When I look back, one of the things that I most proud of is that I didn't get overly pissy during this time. I had accepted the reality but did not resign myself to less than what I could do.

Surprisingly, even though it was my slowest loop, the miles clicked by and I was surprised how quickly I found myself back on the bike path, heading to the finish. So kind as to end on an uphill, I walked to where the tree line started to give way to grass and parking lot and then I ran.

I ran the dam thing.

With the clock reading 6:06, just 6 minutes slower than my goal, and the mercury at 86 degrees, I sat down on a bench happy.

Volunteers asked me if I needed anything -- water, pizza -- but in that moment, there was nothing.

So Much WTF

They say it's better to show up to the starting line undertrained rather than overtrained. Apparently, adrenaline can carry you through the miles where as too many miles can hinder your performance and put you at risk for injury.

And if that is true, I totally nailed my race this weekend.

The WTF (Winter Trail Frosty - get your minds out of the gutter) is a trail race at Eagle Creek Park in Indianapolis, with a quarter marathon option and a half marathon. My super cool trail running friends had all ran the race last year and returned muddy but happy. So when plans were being made to make the two-hour drive to do it again, I knew I had to join.

As things played out - agreeing to pace Joe for the IT 100 and signing up for Another Dam 50K - the race seemed like an even better idea because it would get me on the trails, get me a long run and give me more time with the crew at the IT.

But I didn't count on missing a week of training thanks to the flu nor going nearly a month between my longest run (11.5 miles) and the race. I also didn't plan on showing up with the remnants of the flu - mostly a hacking cough - though I probably should given my past two races in Indianapolis were less than stellar because of illness. (I had a cold for the Indianapolis Monumental Marathon in November and a stomach bug at at the Indy Mini in May.)

There I was, though. At the starting line on a cold and blustery day - the first in more than a week - swallowing a cough and staring at my Garmin, about to run a half marathon completely unprepared. I was nervous but I reminded myself that I have doubts at every race and the most important thing was to get time on my feet and experience on the trails.

At 10 a.m., the race started, taking us down the parking lot and around into the trail. The pace felt hard. Fast. And I was sure that I would not keep up, even though I was hoping to stick with some of the guys from the group. I looked down at my watch.

WTF. Seriously, WTF.

Sometimes, when I want my kids (read: Silas) to leave me alone, I throw them anything electronic to play with. Including my Garmin. I was paying for it now, as the watch was in bike mode and displaying my pace in mph. It's really helpful, especially if you are not good at running math and rarely run on the treadmill and only know that 6.0 is a 10-minute mile.

But who needs help, really, when you feel like ass in the first mile and know you need to start dropping back? Certainly not me.

Before I get overly bitchy and WTF is me, I had fun with my trail running buddies and enjoyed the course. It was two loops that took you through the woods, down steps, up hills and across a landbridge. Well, the landbridge wasn't so fun. It was a windy day - 20+ mph - and you were between two bodies of water. No protection. Just you, the water and the wind. Even though it was flat there, about half-way through the loop, I no likey.

The rest, though, was great. And the best part about being in the woods for nearly 2 1/2 hours is that I didn't hear "Mommy" once much less 15,000 times, which is about the current pace.

And I made myself think about that when the race started feeling tough in the second loop. It was partly my legs lacking the pep, which could have been due to my lack of experience on the trails or lack of endurance. Tough call. It made me want to walk, which left me coughing like a five-pack a day smoker, which left me feeling ... well, like WTF.

More than that, it was the mental weakness that plagued me, and I allowed it to dictate my outlook and fortitude. If I learned one thing, it's that I need to rediscover my inner bad ass and embrace the hell out of her before June 3.

#BeMonumental {A Race Recap}

"Only those who dare to fail greatly can achieve greatly." 

– Robert F. Kennedy

When I set out to train for the Indianapolis Monumental Marathon, I set a big goal. A scary goal. I dared to work for the one thing I've always wanted when it came to the marathon – a sub-4 finish.

Beginning on July 4, I ran race pace miles at 9:09 (often faster) and tempos at 8:30 or, again, faster. I ran midweek medium-long runs and I never skipped a long effort. When the training plan gave me a distance range, I always erred on the side of running farther. I knew that if I wanted to dare to dream big that I wanted to show up to the starting line on Nov. 5 knowing that I had done the work. I wanted to feel confident that there wasn't one more thing I could have done to better prepare myself for the 26.2 miles that lie ahead.

However, what I didn't factor in was showing up less than 100 percent.

On Halloween night, just five days for the race, I felt the niggle in the back of my throat. You know the one – it's caused a bit of sinus drainage and a sure sign that illness is coming. I was determined not to let it affect my race so I did everything I could to ward it off - zinc, hydration, essential oils. But come Friday night, after a stressful week, I had an annoying dry cough and loads of uncertainty about the race.

Nonetheless, I tried to remain positive and repeated the things my friends all said to me. I reminded myself of the training I had done and not to get ahead of myself. I lined up with the 4:00 pacer per the plan and prayed for a good day.

And a good day it was for a marathon. It was high 30s, low 40s at the start and in the 50s at the finish. There winds were calm and the few clouds in the sky offered just the right amount of protection.

But with the first step across the mat, I knew those things – the external factors – wouldn't make or break me. There was nothing short of a miracle that would make me that day.

I felt tired. My chest felt tight. My eyes seemed glassy and glazed. My heart rate seemed high and I couldn't catch my breath. And that was just the first mile, a 9:40 – the pace group slow because of the crowd of 20,000 runners on the streets of Indianapolis.

As hard as it felt, though, I tried my best to stick with it. The pace, the group, the race. I told myself that I would hang until mile 5 and see how it felt.

At mile 5, it still felt hard and I knew I needed to slow down if I wanted to cross the finish line. The pace group was running hot, more than likely trying to make up for the first mile, so I decided to let them go. However, as the sign bobbed farther and farther ahead, my legs didn't seem to lag. Miles 6-8 were all sub-9. It seemed like the more I tried to slow down, the more my legs had something to prove.

My new goal became to run through mile 10.5 strong. I am incredibly blessed to have a group of women to train with on the weekends, and all of them came down to Indianapolis to support me in the race. Their plan was to be at miles 10.5 and 17 to cheer me on and, maybe, 20 depending on traffic. They all believe in me so much and I wanted to do them proud.

So the grind continued.

While the miles between 8 and when I saw them (11.5, actually, because of logistics) were slower, I was staying as strong as I could. I was taking Gu every 5 miles and had taken salt at 7. I was staying hydrated thanks to my Nathan pack and Nuun. And there were points when I really thought I could maybe pull it off.

Then mile 13 came. I took my first walk break then, sipping as best I could from the pack and trying to, as I say, get my shit together. I turned a corner and approached a group of residents spectating. The one man commented that hydration is important, that it was good to take it in, and encouraged me to sprint the next mile.

"Hmph," I thought. "That is definitely not going to happen."

And with that acknowledgement, my mental race began to slip away. The walk breaks – 45 seconds to a minute – became nearly regular each mile and the idea of a time goal seemed ludicrous; finishing seemed like it would be a miracle. When I saw my friends again at mile 15.5 and they asked how I was doing, I just shook my head. It wasn't just that I didn't even have the energy to fake it; there was a part of me, too, that wanted to prepare them for a lackluster finish.

I handed off my hydration pack, which had become annoying at this point, and soldiered on for what I was sure would be a death march.

But for as disappointing and frustrating as the race felt, I had moments of fight. Moments when I decided that I was not going to let this day, this body, be in charge. Around mile 18, I thought there might be a chance that I could run a 4:15 – a finish time that I had quoted much of the summer when asked what I'd be happy with. Miles 19 and 20 came in at 9:14 and 9:20.

As a reward, I gave myself a short walk break but my mile 21 split was slowed further by a fuel station stocked with orange slices, pretzels and other goodies. While most of it did nothing for me, the oranges were a God send and I strolled as I gobbled up two. An 11:26 split meant that much of the time I gained in the previous two miles was gone.

Still, I pushed forward. I kept thinking if I could just run even as my buddy Joe had instructed that the race might not get away from me. However, my legs had no interest in running a 9:30 or even 9:45. They wanted to move faster, run the race for which they were trained, but the body didn't have it. And so I'd slow to a walk and see my split flash in the 10's and sometimes 11's if I stopped for water.

I spent the last miles of the race bouncing between disappointment, disgust, defeat and determination. It was a hard place to be, and I think it was made more difficult because my experience at Fort4Fitness five weeks earlier was such a stark difference. I had felt so in control and strong and, most importantly, I was proud.

I was none of those in the final miles of Monumental. In those miles, I felt as if I was failing greatly. Not just myself but all of those who believed in me, trained with me, supported me. And that was where I struggled the most. It wasn't just that my finish time would be so far off my goal, it was that I would disappoint them.

Looking back it days later, I know this isn't true. Because as I headed down the straight away, I could hear their cheers. I could hear the congratulations. I could hear the friendship.

It didn't matter that I hadn't blown it out of the water. It was that I dared to try.

Finish time – 4:18:54, a new PR.

Fort4Fitness Inaugural Marathon {A Race Recap}

"Ran a marathon to train for a marathon. And casually PR'd in the process." 

Well, when you put it like that ... but I have to say my Nuun teammate pretty much nailed my day on Saturday.

About the race: Fort4Fitness is the largest running event in Fort Wayne and hosts a weekend of races – Kids and Seniors marathons on Friday night and a 4-Mile, 10K and half marathon on Saturday. This year, Fort4Fitness added a marathon, which would consist of four loops – a bonus loop and then courses for the other races. The bonus loop, around 3 miles, was followed by the 10K, the half and, finally, the 4-mile race. The marathon began at 7 a.m.; 10K at 7:30 a.m.; half marathon, 8:30; and 4-mile, 10:30. These start times might seem insignificant but they come into play later as unless you were running a sub-9 pace, marathoners would be smack dab in the middle of the other races.

The plan: As I said earlier in the week, Fort4Fitness was to be a supported training with friends. To keep it a steady pace, I would run with my friends leading the 4:40 pace group (10:40 pace). If I was having trouble, endurance wise, I would back off on the last loop – the 4-mile course.

Pre-race: I was nervous as hell. I didn't feel ready to run a marathon, having only ran 18 miles before and one of my long runs was Ragnar Trail Cascades. I was glad to have my friend Kim there to distract me from the 26.2 miles ahead of us.

It was one of those perfect days. The temperature at the start was in the high 50s, where it was going to stay for most of the day. Clouds blanketed the sky and though the threat of rain had the humidity near 100 percent, it was one of those damp cold days.

The kind of day you want to run. And run I did.

Just shy of 6:50 a.m., I headed to Corral D and lined up with the 4:40 group. Joe shared the pace team's plan to keep the pace around 10:30 and bank a bit of time. While for most races, this strategy wouldn't be recommended but with the anticipation that we'd hit gridlock on the fourth loop when we hit folks at the back of the pack for the 4-mile race.

There was a silent countdown and then the cannon fired. We were off.

The pacers did a great job keeping the pace controlled and smooth on the first loop, as well as engaging everyone around us. There was a new mom who had a 6-month-old at home. A fan of Tough Mudders was running her first marathon. A Michigan man who liked to go on racecations was running his third marathon in as many weeks.

And then there was me. The girl everyone said wouldn't stick with the 4:40 group. But I did. There were times where I'd creep up and have force myself to slow down to let the group catch up. However, I was really conscientious to take it loop by loop, mile by mile.

Splits, 1-3: 10:30, 10:21, 10:10

The first loop seemed to be over in the blink of an eye, and we found ourselves turning right on Baker Street and heading toward the start on Harrison. We were about a minute behind the start of the 10K and once we were on course, we quickly found ourselves weaving around walkers.

With as much politeness as one could have in the situation, the pacers tried to advise the other participants to keep to the right so that we could pass. Thankfully, a course marshal on a bike cleared a path on the left side of the course so that we could make our way south down Calhoun Street.

Again, I found myself creating distance between myself in the pacers. Again, I tried to slow down. Again, I reminded myself that his was a training run. I needed to race smart so that I could recover and continuing training for Monumental. So I did what anyone would do – I turned around and busted out some quick dance moves for the entertainment of the group.

Just before the third mile of the 10K course (and mile 6 for us), we hit a spot that was added purely for mileage. We turned left down a side street, ran a half-block, around a cone and then rejoined the previous course. When we previewed the route three weeks ago, we identified it as an area of congestion – and we were right. But it was probably for the best because, as Stacey said, the group was running hot.

As hot as the pace was for the group, the first two loops felt like a warm-up and I was on cruise control. My mind started trying to go places but I fought it. Fought it hard.

Splits, 4-9: 10:11, 10:22, 10:30, 10:16, 10:07, 10:23

When Fort4Fitness announced the marathon earlier this year, I was skeptical. I did not like the idea of the four loops, and I thought it was a recipe for boredom and DNFs. Surely, passing the turn off to the finish three times would be too tempting for some runners.

However, I really found myself liking it. The loops broke up the race, and I felt like I just had to get through that loop. A marathon is much easier to take on when it feels like it's only 6.2 miles or 13.1.

As we started the half marathon, we again found ourselves navigating walkers but I was thankful to see that the crowd thinned out quickly enough – and by quickly enough, I mean within 3 miles.

But the work to get through it mean that I had lost the 4:40 group. I knew that this could mean trouble. There would be no one to keep me on pace but me. I'm terrible on not running like an asshole, and I have began doing my tempos on the treadmill to stay in the right zone.

Just keep it at 10:15, I told myself. If you're not going to do 10:30, make it 10:15. 10:15 is just fine.

I turned west onto Tillman Road and headed down one of my favorite stretches of the course. It's a fairly wide four-lane road that feels like it's in the middle of the country but is right in the middle of the city. It can be really hard not to open up on the stretch and more so on Saturday because I got a high-five and well wishes from the Fort4Fitness creator, whom I've gotten to know well over the years.

From Tillman Road, the race joins with the Greenway and we run nearly three miles through Foster Park – my home turf. It can be a monotonous part of the race because there's little crowd support and not much to see beyond trees and trees and, well, trees. For me, though, it was like a game of cat and mouse. I saw a pace sign ahead of me and wondered it was the 2:20 group for the half. I did a couple strides to catch up and told myself that I'd stay with them. But, it was the 2:30 group going at an 11-something pace and so I moved on.

I passed my BRF's husband, punched him in the arm (nicely, of course) and continued. I found the 2:20 group tried to slow to stick with them but couldn't, so I ran on.

Earlier in the week, I had been Athlinks-stalking someone and decided to see what my time was from the Columbus Marathon in 2012, my first 26.2 and my PR. (I ran Veterans in 2013 but ran a 4:35.) My time that day was 4:26 and change. As I made my way toward mile 9 of the half and mile 18 for me, I started doing some math.

Let me just say this: Math while running, much less racing, is never a good idea.

I looked at my watch. I looked at overall time. I looked at total distance. I factored in the extra distance I had already accumulated. And even still, if I ran a 10-minute mile, there was a chance I could PR.

Just then, as if the cosmos read my watch, I came up on the 4:25 pacer. I asked him if they were on pace and how he was feeling. They had lost time on the 10K loop but were running about a 10:03. I started to slow down to stick with him but I could tell he wasn't feeling it and so I moved on.

But with the discovery that a PR would be a possibility with a 10-minute pace, I tried to rein it in and stick to 10 minutes as I made my way to the last loop.

Splits, 10-22: 10:12, 10:04, 9:57, 9:51, 9:45, 9:42, 9:50, 9:43, 9:40, 9:50, 9:40, 9:26, 9:35

I like walking. I think walking is good. I think walking in a race is fantastic. I love that Fort4Fitness brings out so many first-time racers and walkers to its events, too. I really, really do.

That said, the last loop was a cluster.

I turned down Baker Street toward Harrison Street where I got the best surprise – my BRF was there with not one but two cowbells. She was there cheering on a host of folks racing (like her husband) but we'll pretend she was there just for me.

I was in near solitude as I made my way down this stretch, nary another marathoner in sight (there were less than 500). I grabbed a Gu and some water and headed toward the mats to begin the last of the race.

But by the time I made the two turns toward Calhoun, I found myself in a sea of walkers, 10 wide headed south. I debated going down the right. Or maybe left. At one point, I wondered what would happen if I spread my arms and just blasted down the middle. But the truth of it was that there was no good way to run it. I was either sacrificing my race or coming off like a complete asshole. At one point, around 1.5 miles into the last loop, I had to walk a block as the congestion at a water stop was impossible to navigate.

I tried to control it but I couldn't: I was pissed.

And when I rounded the corner with 2 miles to go and saw the boys, Mark could see the intensity in my face. He thought I looked strong, and I did feel strong, but really I was frustrated. So I ran with it.

It might have been that annoyance that pushed me through any potential wall because, I'll be honest, I never felt like I hit one. I felt good and capable, and I think my fueling was on point. I took Gu at 5, 10, 15, 20 and 23 and salt tabs at 7, 13 and 21. I drank from my hydration pack through the first three loops and then hit the water stations. Hard.

There were other stations, too. With beer. I had told myself that I would stop at the beer stations in the Williams Woodland Neighborhood during the fourth loop but I was ready to get it done. Beer, sadly, could wait.

Even having moved past walkers for the better part of 3 miles, I was still weaving in the final stretches. I finally gave in and started yelling, "Marathoner on PR pace coming through. Make room for marathoner."

And as I made the turn, I finally got to go left toward the stadium. I had made it. I ran down the drive and onto the red dirt of Parkview Field, the baseball stadium for our minor league baseball team. I had two tenths to go but it seemed so much farther. I stuck to the inside, not antsy to run any more than I could, and picked it up.

I picked it up and took it home ... in 4:23:33 – a nearly 3-minute PR.

Splits, 23-26.2: 9:48, 9:26, 9:53, 9:33, 8:47 pace

Stomped {A Race Recap}

"I don't think I like you anymore," I wrote in a text message to Tami.

Tami – my BRF. My injured BRF. My injured BRF who was responsible for me running probably one of the most humbling races I have ever finished.

Running Between the Vines is a half marathon in Jackson, Michigan, that begins and ends at the Sandhill Crane Winery. Race directors promise a beautiful course with a calming and beautiful roads, dirt roads and a finish among the vines. They also promise wine samples, of course, as well as cheese and chocolate – a perfect polygamist marriage of post-race treats.

But when you venture off the main page and start exploring, one finds that this seemingly picture-perfect race day comes at a price – hills. And lots of them.

The race boasts 580 feet of elevation gain, a far cry from the 100 I can log on a particularly hilly run in Fort Wayne. For 90 percent of the race, you are either running up or running down. There were no extended flat sections, at least according to my elevation reports on Strava and the way my quads felt after the race.

So the race. This half marathon was to be a training run – and that's it. I knew that I was not even close to PR shape, and I knew it would be hot. Really hot, at least for a half marathon. The conditions at the start were 75 degrees with nearly 100 percent humidity.

Of course, I am me and my hope was that I would be able to hold back on the first 5 miles, pick it up from 6 to 10 and finish strong.

Yeah ... about that. The race didn't really work out like I had hoped.

Not even close.

I started too strong – the first miles were 9:12 and 9:18. I was able to dial it back for miles 3 through 5 (9:49, 9:57, 10:08) and I was able to pick it up in the sixth mile (9:28).

As for mile 7, I came in at 10:03 but didn't fret as there were some decent hills and I was still running up them. I figured if I could get a good drink at the next aid station that I would be OK.

And then more hills came. And the water wasn't enough. And it was just so flipping hot.

I started to walk every other hill and then half of every hill and then walk the hills and run the downhills. As I fell farther and farther behind, it seemed to be the MO for those around me.

Somewhere around mile 10, I was passed on an uphill by a #sportsbrasquad runner. She was running steady as she held her shirt in her hand. I envied her. It wasn't just that she had the energy to move faster up the hill than I could but that she had to be cooler than I was. My Nuun tank, which I love, was soaked. Sopping, even. And it just stuck to me. To every curve and roll, there it was hanging heavily. It wasn't just gross – it was uncomfortable.

I thought about that girl as I ran that mile. I thought about her as I picked up my pace on the downhill and slowed to walk up another. As I slowed, I decided to say fuck it. I stopped. In my tracks. I unpinned my bib, moved it to my shorts and took off my shirt. FREEDOM!

The 11th mile was my slowest because of that stop and though I promised to keep slow and steady the rest of the race, I just couldn't muster it. It was hot and I was tired. And I just released myself from any expectations, making it my goal to get across the line.

And I did. It was slow. There was no kick. No triumphant finish. But I earned my medal.

Highlight of the race: The volunteers. There was an aid station, which we passed twice, that handed out wet towels. The first time, I took the town and wrapped it around my neck. The second time, I did the same but about a mile out, I sucked on the towel as I needed more water. There was another stop with ice in the towels. I stuffed that effer in my bra and pulled out pieces for the last 1.5 miles. I think it was the only thing that got me through.

Lowlight of the race: Feeling so defeated and not feeling strong at the end.

Thoughts on the course: Even though it was hilly, the race organizers were right. It was stunning. The route went along mostly country roads – some dirt, some gravelish, some paved – with stunning vistas on either side with wooded areas and lush green farms.

Thoughts on the race: It was well run, affordable and the swag (a wine glass and medal with wine stopper) was nice. The samples at the end were a bit on the small side and runners were given just three tickets for free. Mark and I bought more tickets (6 for $5) but that still didn't equal a full glass.

An Honor Run {5K Recap}

I'm not one to race for the sake of racing. If I register for event, it's either because I'm working toward a goal and following a devoted training plan' it's a points race for our local running club; or it's a bucket list type of thing.

However, on Saturday, I found myself toeing the line of the AJ Arnett 5K Honor Run without a goal and no hope for points. I didn't snag an early registration deal nor did I have some kind of comped entry. My decision, which was last-minute (as in last day I could register online), was made in large part because my friends were doing it and I hadn't seen most of my weekend gals since mid April. 

It didn't hurt, either, that the race's namesake is a fond acquaintance for whom I have a lot of respect and the proceeds went toward Honor Flights. (Note: The race raised $10,000, which will pay for 25 vets to go to Washington, D.C.!)

As the 5K was neither a goal race nor a points race, there should have been no pressure to throw down a fast time. Factoring in that I hadn't ran but once the week before because I was sick and hadn't run fast since Carmel, the idea of a fast race wasn't even that plausible.

However, as I walked around the staging area, I knew that I didn't have it in me to just run a casual 5K in my old neighborhood when, in theory, I could do that any day. I decided, then, the race would serve as a fitness test to see where I was and where I needed to go as I looked to break 25 minutes in the 5K this year.  

The race began with the ceremoniously firing of a cannon and I took note, shooting off as well. Read: I ran like a bat out of hell at a pace that I had no business running. By the half-mile mark, that number on the Garmin took a nose dive because, apparently, I have never ran a race before and had to stop to tie my shoe. Seriously. 

The hiccup in the first mile and break in rhythm put the first thought in my head that I could back off and just have fun. As I pushed ahead, I passed my friend's daughter. T, who is 10, was aiming to set a new PR, which would mean a sub-27 finish. I briefly thought of offering to pace her but I know that she likes to run her own race.

And good thing I didn't because that fast little thing ran a 25 and change. I have a feeling that this summer she will be pacing me!

I continued on strong until the halfway mark, with T apparently hot on my tail. When I got to about 1.5-1.6, I was sort of over the race. I started backing down. But just as I did, I got some much needed motivation. A runner whom I've seen at other events but don't know cheered me on and told me to hang on. As she passed, she gave me a small pat on the shoulder. It was such a small gesture but meant so much. I also saw a couple of trail runners who seemed to be running a consistent pace. I decided that I'd try to hang as close to them as I could. The distance between them and me fluctuated – sometimes I'd slow and then I'd kick myself in the butt – but I always kept sight.

 

We made a left turn onto the final stretch and as I came closer, I saw that the clock still said 24:XX. TWENTY-FRICKING-FOUR. I dug deep and hauled butt, crossing the line in 24:50 (chip time 24:47).

I was floored. Not only did I break my PR of 25:10 (set in February at the Cupid Chase) but I reached my end-of-summer 5K goal. 

Now, I still plan to do some 5K specific training as I wait for Monumental Marathon training to start and who knows ... maybe the next goal will be breaking 24:30. I'd also like to run a strong 5K where I don't feel like a complete slug at the end.

Did anyone else race this weekend?

Indy Mini Marathon {A Race Recap}

On April 16, I set a personal best in the half at the Carmel Marathon. And this weekend, just three weeks later, I set a personal worst at the OneAmerica 500 Festival Mini Marathon in Indianapolis.

A photo posted by Kimberly (@healthystrides) on May 7, 2016 at 11:25am PDT

I had never really planned on running the Indy Mini – ever, really. Though it's one of the biggest (if not the biggest, depending on the year) half marathons in the country and just two hours from me, I never really saw the draw. It was crowded, often hot and with 2.5 miles on the race track, it seemed tedious.

However, when a friend offered me the chance to run for her, I had a hard time turning it down. It was a big year for the race, after all. It was the 40th running of the Indy Mini, Meb was going to be the guest of honor and my BRF was participating. And speaking of BRF Tami. Not only did she put in the miles for the race, she put her soul into it. Instead of setting a time goal, she decided to raise money for Riley Children's Hospital in honor of a friend whose baby spent months at the facility. Tami not only raised more than $2,000 but she was the top fundraiser for Team Riley.

And so the plan was that I would run with her, and we were going to celebrate her accomplishment. Run with joy. In the meantime, we'd set an awesome PR in fun.

I headed down to Indianapolis on Friday night after work, stopping for a roasted chicken on wheat from Subway. Tami had picked up my bib so once I got to the hotel, I was able to wander around and get an early peek at the finish line – just two or three blocks from where we were staying. I thought I might try to find a coffee or a snack but nothing seemed close by and my stomach was a bit off. I couldn't tell if I was hungry or feeling sick.

The feeling of nausea intensified through the night, and I couldn't decide whether I wanted to get up to vomit or go to the bathroom. Instead, I opted for a fitful night's sleep – the kind where you don't feel like you've slept at all. I didn't want to get up and have, err, issues and wake up Tami and her husband.

Race morning, I felt a little bit better and so I slowly ate a brown sugar Pop-Tart and sipped a Diet Pepsi. I got dressed, put fruit punch Nuun in my Nathan hydration pack and prepared for the race.

I was in a good mood albeit nervous when we got to the start line. Tami and I took fun selfies; I danced to the music because, when in doubt, dancing is always a good idea; and we marveled at the outfit selections of our fellow runners. It was mid-50s at the start, and we saw people in full tights and long-sleeves to men in shorty shorts and no shirts (but heart rate straps). There were runners lined up as far – and farther – than the eyes could see, and it felt awesome to be a part of a race of such magnitude.

When the checkered flag waved for our wave to go off, I set off with Tami ready and hopeful to take on the race. It was a bit crowded and congested but we managed to find a steady pace and a bit of space in the crowd. I felt OK, not great, for the first few miles. The 9:30ish pace, leg-wise, felt good and the nausea was apparent but not aggravating. The biggest problem, if anything, was the weather  – nearing 60 and full sun with the urban neighborhoods offering no shade.

But things got a little more iffy as we got closer to mile 5. Tami said she wanted to use a portable bathroom. Pregnant = pee break (her, not me). It, the request, was almost apologetic but I was grateful. It would give me a chance to walk, maybe settle the stomach and I could use one, as well. I thought maybe everything would work itself out if I popped in.

It didn't work itself out, though, and I knew from then on that I was, quite possibly, in trouble. Real trouble. I began thinking about whether to DNF and how I could DNF. I wondered where the medic tents would be and how far I could go before stopping at one.

We were so close to the Indianapolis Motor Speedway, though, and running on the famed track. I told myself to just get to the track, run the 2.5 miles around it, kiss the bricks and be done.

Just outside, at an aid station, I walked a bit to grab water and a selfie with a Chick-Fil-A cow. Inside, I told Tami that I needed to walk and when I did so, I nearly threw up. Actually, I wanted to and I couldn't. After the seventh mile beeped, the urge (and failure to do so) came again.

We kissed the bricks and I told Tami to go. I felt so sick and crampy, and any race I had in me was over. She looked reluctant but she didn't sign up for this and this was her race. Also, I promised that I was going to quit.

At mile 8.5, I exited the track and looked for a med tent.

At mile 9, I grabbed water and tried to do math. I could walk 4 miles in 40 minutes. Or I could run 4 miles in 48 minutes. Wait. What the what. I decided to try a run-walk strategy to get to mile 10.

At mile 10, I thought I only had two miles left and figured I could death march it to the finish.

At mile 11, I realized I was wrong. But now it really was two miles. My goal was to run 0.75 of every mile and walk a quarter but it was closer to 0.6-0.4 or worse.

At mile 11.75, I used the port-o-potty again.

In the last mile, I saw a guy on a stretcher being loaded into a medic cart. I wondered if it should be me. A volunteer in a military uniform thought it should be, too, and tried to get me to sit down. I was walking, slowly, in the last half-mile. I said I just wanted to finish. I had made it this far, after all.

I saw Meb pass, too, as we went down the main stretch. He had started the race at the back of the pack and tried to pass as many people as possible. But when his team said, "Meb coming through," I thought they said medic. Obviously, my brain had one track. I tried to pick it up and grab a picture ... and the uptempo pace made me sick again.

At mile 13.1, I finished a race I had no business running. I don't know how I did it and I'm not sure I'm proud that I did. I went through the finishers' area, grabbed some goodies and headed back to the hotel to use a real bathroom.

Many times after such a disappointing race, I'd be inclined to beat myself up, wonder where I went wrong and what I could have done better. In this case, there's no beating myself up. The hardest part is that my stomach bug/possible food poisoning affected what was an otherwise great race and the race of my friend. I'm used to being a strong, dependable runner and running friend but on this day I wasn't – not even close.

But, to glean something positive from the day, I realized why everyone wants to run the Indy Mini and now have a reason to go back and destroy it.

Carmel Half Marathon {A Race Recap}

In September 2010, I ran my third half marathon – Fort4Fitness – and posted a time of 1:54:12. It's a time that I have chased ever since, running a dozen or so more half marathons in the hopes of setting a new personal best. But between having babies and not finding my speed, I never quite got there.

On Saturday, though, on the roads of Carmel, I did.

Pre-race

I got off work a bit early on Friday, and Mark met me at his parents' house with the kids. I nursed Si, offered some last-minute tips on getting him to sleep and fielded the 1,500 inquiries from Miles about when we were going to leave. I guess he was as antsy as I was to get the weekend started.

After a few hugs and reassurances from my in-laws that the boys would be fine, Mark and I began the two-hour or so drive to Carmel. I was rather impressed with us – we talked the whole way down and generally enjoyed each other's company. It's amazing the things you can discuss when you're not unlocking iPads and tossing toys in the backseat.

Mark was so nice – he made me a bottle of strawberry lemonade Nuun to drink on the drive down.

The Carmel Marathon Expo took place at the Monon Community Center and, thank goodness, was open until 9 p.m. The process of picking up my bib was ridiculously smooth, and I was able to hit up the booths within a few minutes.

The race had long-sleeve shirts specific to each distance for sale, and each participant's name was printed on the back. It was a really neat idea, and I almost bought one – twice. Once at the expo and once after the race. Alas, I got a race shirt and don't really need another long-sleeve tech tee. #wompwomp

There were quite a few races represented, too, and I had to stop myself from registering for a slew of fall half marathons. I'm currently torn between the Indy Women's Half in September and the Urban Bourbon Half (Louisville) in October.

By 7:50 p.m., Mark and I were on our way to the hotel, which was supposed to be just a few miles away. A 10-minute drive based on the directions I had printed out from Google.

Yeah. About that. It took us 40 effing minutes.

Between Google maps, 15,000 roundabouts, insane construction and misleading addresses, our drive to the hotel was ridiculous. At one point, I had a complete meltdown, screaming that the whole race was jinxed and we might as well turn around and go home. The struggle to find it was my biggest complaint of the weekend, and I think it would behoove the city of Carmel to make things easier for people visiting.

But 5 minutes later, we found the hotel and I was back to being happy. Mark massaged my calves and I drank lemon-lime Nuun and watched HGTV.

Race morning

I woke up at 5:40 to pump and get dressed so that I could hit up the hotel breakfast when it opened at 6 a.m. Because everyone is dying to know – I had a bagel, half with cream cheese and half with peanut butter.

Given our troubles with navigation the previous day, we left by 6:30 for the 7:30 race and arrived about 6:50.

I was trying to be happy and positive but as the time approached to line up with the 1:55 pacer, an uneasy feeling in my stomach grew. It didn't help that I had been to the bathroom a lot that morning – enough to give me pause that my GI system could be the death of my race. After getting our bearings at the start/finish village, I headed to the port-o-potty line for insurance. It was long but I managed to find a shortish offshoot and get in and out OK.

Just then, the call was made to head to the corrals so I said goodbye to Mark, brushed off his remarks that he'd see me in an hour and 49 minutes and headed off.

The race

The goal for the day was to find the 1:55 pacer, hang with her until mile 9 and then drop her to make up some 48 seconds to PR.

The pacers were easy to find, holding signs with goal times and wearing brightly colored shirts with pacer on the back. There were quite a few in my area – a 3:45 pacer for the marathon, 1:55 and 2:00 for the half and 4:00 for the marathon.

The 3:45 pacer {Troy, I think} was chatting up his group, offering tips and underscoring the importance of hydration for the race as marathon finishers would see temps in the high 60s. My gal was chatting with a friend so I found myself eavesdropping and sort of wishing I was running with him.

In a mile or so, I would, as fate would have it.

When the gun went off and we all crossed the timing mats, I made it my business to stick to the 1:55 pacer like glue. She made quick business of getting through the crowds and getting on pace, about 8:42 to 8:45.

But as we made our way down East 126th Street and I tried to find my own space, I found that I dropped her. I didn't want to waste time or energy looking back or trying to find her again so I decided that I was just going to run my race.

I was going to do it smartly, though. So as I came up on the 3:45 group, I realized that it offered me the opportunity to run with a pace group, log consistent splits, get the support I needed and if I needed to rein it in later, I would.

Our/my splits for those first few miles were 8:32, 8:20, 8:39 and 8:29. Even though they were faster than goal pace, I tried to do two things: stay positive and focus on the now.

About mile 4, the half marathoners split from the full participants and I soon found myself on my own. I didn't anticipate that it would affect me but I felt a bit lonely as I made my way up the hill after the turnaround. I didn't have Troy offering tips on everything from water stations to potty stops nor how to shake things out if the body was feeling tight. I was grateful that I was able to see runners in the 2-hour and 2:10 groups as they headed to the split. I spotted my buddy Joe who was running the half with his daughter! Screaming like a wild woman and waving was a much needed boost as we made our way on to Limberlost Drive.

I had considered trying to slow a bit, getting my pace to the 8:40 range but I had settled in closer to the 8:30 range. Rather than fret about it, I repeated in my head the words from my friends who urged me to believe in myself and to stay positive. And when a negative thought tried to worm its way in, I told myself that BRF Tami said no to them and I had to listen. Apparently, I'm very obedient when I run.

Splits for miles 5-9: 8:19, 8:29, 8:23, 8:33 and 8:31

While I was happy with my splits, I told myself that I needed to stay strong through mile 10 and then I could re-evaluate the time on my watch, how I was feeling and how I wanted to handle the final 5K.

But as we left the section of the course (miles 8-9.5ish) on the shady Hagan-Burke Trail, the heat and effort began to take its toll. There was a water stop about mile 9.75, and I used it as an opportunity to take a gel, grab two cups (one to drink, one to toss on my head) and walk up a hill.

To this point, I had been carrying my 8-ounce Nathan Handheld, filled with Lemon-Lime Nuun. I had refilled it at mile 7, too. I felt like I was doing well with hydration but my face did feel a bit salty.

At the crest of the hill, I told myself that now was not the time to give in so I tossed my handheld (sad face) and began to run. "The wheels cannot come off," I thought. "Not now." And to help with this, I started singing in my head "The Wheels on the Bus."

Like you do.

My mile 10 split came in at 9:19. I tried not to get upset with myself, knowing that I should have enough time banked (especially with an 8:19 in mile 5) that I would be OK.

But the stretch on Old Meridian was hot. And hilly (at this point in the race). And I was tired. And I soon found myself walking again. I was so disheartened. With each step, I felt like I was letting all of my hard work slip away. And when my watch beeped 9:27 for a mile 11 split, I knew it was do or die.

So I did.

I told myself that I worked too hard to let it go now. I knew it would be hard, that the margin for error was slimmer than ever, but I might have a chance. So I dug. I did speed play. I focused on catching people. I bribed myself. I did anything and everything to pick up my feet and get myself to the finish.

When mile 12 came in at 8:38, I felt a bit lighter. Not light but I knew that I just needed to work hard for 10 more minutes. Ten minutes = 9-minute mile for mile 13 and a 10-minute pace for the last tenth.

I run with my eyes closed - it's fun!

Note: While most courses "measure" long because of tangents, passing people, etc., I finished within five hundreths of 13.1 and didn't have to account for extra time for extra distance.

There was a timing mat at 12.6 for the AmeriFirst Sprint to the Finish, and I tried to use it as an incentive to hit the accelerator but try as I might, the engine was sputtering. I was running out of gas.

But I needed to grind it out. I thought that I was going to be within seconds of 1:54:12 so I needed to push. I told myself that I could not rely on any time I had banked, that miles 10 and 11 had eaten it all.

Mile 13 came in at 8:43.

And once you hit mile 13, it's just a sprint to the finish. Sprint I did. I didn't worry about cameras or throwing up my hands. I didn't smile or think about those around me. I didn't care about race pleasantries and passing people around me. All I saw was the clock. A clock that was at 1:54.

I had to get it ... now. 

My last split was 7:29 pace.

My official time was 1:53:20 – a 52-second PR. A time that I have worked toward for years.

Knowing that I had done it was so overwhelming that I bent over at the waist, the strength to hold myself up gone, as a volunteer handed me water. I was shedding tears when I received my medal. When I saw Mark, all I could do was collapse in his arms.

It wasn't a perfect race but it was my race and for that I'm incredibly proud.

Huffing and Puffing: A Race Recap

Dec. 20, 2014.

Standing in a dimly lit tent, my feet ice cold and my fingers numb, I passed out packet after packet to runner after runner. Some nervous, some excited. Some just trying to keep moving.

"Safety pins are in your bag. Shirts at the end of the tent to your right. Race starts at 8. Good luck. Do you have any questions?"

I had said it so many times that morning, volunteering at the table from 6 a.m. to 8 a.m., that I almost started to look for my bib and head to the start line. But a good 20 weeks pregnant, I didn't think it was the best thing to do. Head to the start line, that is, and run a trail event. 10.8 miles for some and a 50K for others.

I knew it was smart but it was challenging to see people line up to do some epic shit. I wanted to be out there, and so I told myself I would in 2015.

Of course, I had a few prerequisites. Mark had to agree, first off. I had to be healthy, as well. And the weather had to be decent.

See, I had done the HUFF 50K once before, as a relay in 2011. AKA the year of epic shit. Knee-deep water crossings, ankle deep mud, frigid temperatures.

The race has gotten a reputation of having unpredictable weather conditions since the 2011 race had thigh-deep standing water and freezing temperatures.  

“They look at that video, which made the reputation of this race as being a tough thing where you could get your bragging rights,” race director Mitch Harper said. “All those people that did that year have their bragging rights. The weather’s great, we have a near-record turnout." {Source}

And that video?

{Read my recap here}

So you can understand my hesitation. But I had been assured that the trails had been modified to prevent such conditions. The weather, too, has been unseasonably warm. I had friends running the race – the 50K and 10.8-mile single loop.

It promised to be an event. One I couldn't resist.

I volunteered again, from 6 to 8 a.m. at packet pickup, and then met up with BRF Tami to run the one loop.

We had decided ahead of the race that we would run together and we would run it for fun. Now, fun wouldn't be a pass to be slackers but neither of us were going to feel pressure to hit a certain time. At least on my end, I was just excited to run with her ... during the day ... somewhere new ... where there were lots of trees and scenic spaces.

And, let me tell you, the race fulfilled all of those things.

Here are the top 5 highlights:

1. Aid stations. Cookies, candy, pretzels, soup, soda. To borrow Tami's sentiments, had I known running could involve so many amazing foods, I might have laced up my shoes earlier. We hit two aid stations and both were stocked with anything you could think of and amazing volunteers. At the first, I opted for Mike & Ike candy and an M&M cookie for the road. I went for gummy bears and pretzels at the second. Sadly, the gummy bears were a bit hard from the cold weather but I managed ;)

Note: Another great thing about the aid stations was that both had bathrooms available. I had to pee at the first, and Tami at the second.

2. All the leaves are brown and the sky is pink. The race time coupled with the time of year meant that we got to see the early sun rise through the bare trees and over the distant fields as we climbed the trails of Chain O Lakes State Park in Albion. There were moments where I would catch myself bemoaning the hills and force myself to look up. Whatever the physical challenge, it was truly the beauty of nature that took my breath away. Another section, tall pines reached for the blue sky and brown needles carpeted the path. I would take a deep breath and catch the trees' aroma. Had there been the faintest dusting of snow, it would have been a picture perfect winter scene.

3. Well if the guys with skinny legs are doing it, so should we. Early on, Tami and I decided that we would walk the big hills. The motivation was three part: Hills suck; we haven't been doing serious hill training since our fall races; and the other people were doing it, too. We usually took turns deciding when we would walk, like an unwritten rule. It was like we would reach other's mind in a way only BRFs could do.

4. Let's stay together. The race got really hard. For me, at least. There were sections when I allowed myself to feel defeated rather than challenged by the course. I hated feeling more weak than bad ass and, on more than one occasion, I urged Tami to go on. But she didn't. Refused. And I'm thankful for it.

5. Do the time. While we were running for fun, I knew that I ran the one-loop in 2011 in 2:09. Given the improved conditions and feeling like I'm in slightly better shape, I had a secret goal of finishing in under two hours. I didn't wear a watch for the race, not having charged it and wanting to reduce the pressure, so I had no idea where we were at. If I were to guess, though, I wouldn't have guessed 2 hours. We walked the hills, we had taken our time at aid stations. Hell, I'm pretty sure I took a solid minute to pee. And I generally felt slow. But as we exited the woods, I was shocked to see that the clock read 1:58. Suddenly, my legs had a little more pep. There was the slightest of kicks. And, maybe, a litany of celebratory curse words.

Mark had joked that it was fitting that I would end my 2015 racing season in December. Even though I've sworn off the 50K, I'm pretty sure that it will end my calendar for 2016, too.

Two Races, One Weekend

You know what happens when you are mad at your husband. You turn on your computer. You log onto the Internet. You bust out the credit card – his credit card. And you use it.

To register for a race. Or two. Or three.

Or maybe that's just me.

I'm not even sure what I was mad at Mark for that day (I was probably just tired and irrational) but when I saw that some of my fellow run clubbers had signed up to participate in the fifth of a night run series, I decided that it was time I stopped worrying about how the boys would do and start getting social. So I clicked register.

A few hours later, I saw an ad for the track clubs' annual turkey trot, which is on a Saturday. (There is also a Thanksgiving Day race hosted by a race company but we're out of town.) I thought some of my other friends might do that so I clicked register. Again.

And then I didn't say anything. Until Monday, when I realized that the race were that week and a mere 13 hours apart.

Oops.

Double oops because I had nothing to be mad about anymore and I had my wits about me, realizing that it was a bit selfish of me to do what I did. But, because Mark is awesome 97 percent of the time, he didn't care and might have been a wee bit supportive. It's moments like those when I hate how bitchy I can be.

Photo credit: Team NeighborLink

Race One: Team NeighborLink Night Moves Race Series, #5

The mission of Team Neighborlink is to "use athletics to raise awareness and funds to improve the lives of vulnerable homeowners and transform neighborhoods." The mission of the Night Moves race series to be a complete hipster by running at night, in cool areas and finishing with beer as you order from a food truck. Beards are optional.

OK. Maybe I'm being  a bit flip but they were a whole lot of hipster beards and a food truck and beer.

Anyway ...

This night's 4-mile run was raising money to help by Robert a furnace. Robert is one of those vulnerable home owners the group looks to help, and he had been without heat since early 2015. He spent much of last winter in the cold. Combined with previously raised money, $700 from Friday's event was going to the heating system that will be installed next weekend. For all the races we do for charity, I thought it was totes rad that I knew exactly where the money was going and it was in my community.

The race started at 9 p.m. at a very hip(ster) art gallery about a mile from my house. I decided to run there as a warm up and hoped a friend would take me home.

My mission for the night was to have fun. So when Cynthia asked me if I wanted to run with her at a relaxed pace, I said yes. When a volunteer asked me if I wanted to tackle the tree obstacle, I said yes and headed into the woods. When I was offered a beer at the end, I said no ... but I did accept a Stella Artois cider.

The event was a total blast, and I'm hoping the group continues the series into the winter. It's a great way to be social with a conscience.

Race Two: Fort Wayne Track Club Turkey Trot

It was the 20th year for the race, which is advertised as a 5K on "scenic, flat trails" at a county park. I've run the trails a couple times and though scenic, I wouldn't call them flat. Then again, I'm not trying to get people to sign up for event.

Before any race, Mark will ask me if I'm going for time or a PR or just having fun. When he asked me Saturday morning, I didn't know what to tell him. I had put in a hard effort on Thursday and ran the night race Friday. I had no idea what kind of speed, if any, was left in my legs. Factor in trails and the whole race could be a crapshoot.

The race got off to a brisk start as we navigated the roads of the park before landing on trail. From the beginning, it felt like a challenge. My breathing was labored, and I couldn't keep up with people with whom I normally can.

During the first mile, which seemed unusually long, I wavered between slowing down to enjoy the views, pushing forward and even just walking. "Why are 5Ks so hard?" I thought. I have felt better during runs four times the length.

"You don't run long runs at an 8:47 pace," I scolded myself as I reached the first mile marker and saw the split.

The temptation to slam on the brake was real when I saw the display on my Soleus. I was beginning to switch gears when a boy, who turned out to be 8 years old, came up on my left and pulled ahead. There is part of me that knows I shouldn't care who passes me but it's a bit demoralizing if they haven't yet sprouted a chin hair (and I have three because I can't find my tweezers).

I dug in a little on a hill and passed him. He wasn't happy with that so he dug in and passed me. Repeat times 500 for a good mile and a half when I was finally able to successfully pass him.

I tried to catch a few others in the last half mile in the event they were in my age group but I didn't have anything left. At 27:46, I was done. Happily done.

There was an awesome assortment of refreshments – cookies, doughnut holes, fruit, coffee – at the nature center. The boys had come with (Miles running the 15,000 centimeter dash) and we enjoyed a few things before heading off. I don't like to leave before awards*, just as a courtesy, but it was ridiculously crowded and, after 13 hours, I needed to put on my mom hat again.

I would be remiss if I didn't give a big thanks to Mark for not getting mad at me and supporting me even when I act like a big baby. I promise I'll be nicer and more rational when Si starts sleeping through the night.

*I ended up 6/17 in my age group. I'll move up next year, and I'm not looking forward to it. The older you get, the more competitive.